There Are Too Many Things To Trademark
by lil'hawkeye3
Summary: A regular Gotham citizen has to deal with the normalities of everyday life against one of the worst villains known to mankind... insurance companies. [Written by my good friend Prongs]


**Not written by me- This is the work of my good friend, Prongs, who sadly does not have a FFN account. Therefore, it is on my page! They'd love to hear back from you, so don't forget to review!**

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"My Honda Civic was nothing special. It was a generic car made for a generic human living in a generic city in a generic state in 'America the Great'. _How_ great is America, though? It _can't_ be that good of a place if insurance companies are as unreliable as the fire escape outside my apartment's leaky window. Seriously, my apartment sucks. America the great? As if. More like America the Deadbeat.

"I've got one bedroom, one kitchen hardly big enough for two people, a stove and a fridge. Sometimes I manage to sit on my couch without hitting a plant or a wall. It's cold and drafty and probably violates hundreds of codes. I would call an inspector but I threw my corded phone out the window. Pieces of the blue plastic are still on the pavement, eight stories below me. I managed to hit The Penguin, though. It's not much of an accomplishment. Other's have done better. My ex-girlfriend did a classic cartoon move and once nailed the hood of Batman's car with a flowerpot. It was pretty awesome, to say the least. My window has the best view of the worst crime in the city.

"Anyway, I parked my Honda Civic on a curb. I had just ended my eighth anger management meeting. Those people are a real joy, let me tell you. We sit in a poorly-lit room in the center of a building that shifts with the wind. One whole wall is made of glass. Because of us, that wall has been replaced three times. Soon enough, the repairmen will just leave holes we make there until our meetings absolve. There are plenty of chairs to toss about like nobody's business. Our counselor prefers us to use the soft, rubber bouncy balls but there's nothing more refreshing than hearing the sound of shattering glass. The way it tinkles to the ground in melodic way and how the chair sound as it plummets to the cracked pavement is great. The gasps and screams of those around us are pretty nice to hear, too. What can I say? Gotham is full of maniacs. Eleven of them gather into a small room every Thursday, with a counselor who tries to understand our problems but has to take anxiety pills half an hour before each meeting... We'll be needing another counselor soon. The eleven of us versus one psychological pro is very hard on her brain. I get it, lady, we're all psychopaths who can't control our tempers.

"Sorry- I got sidetracked there. I'm pretty sure I have ADHD but I've never really taken the time to check. Reading three pages on the symptoms takes too much time, and I've got things to do- like taking care of my Honda Civic. Most people's cars are silver. Mine is blue. It's the color of the sky with the sun filtered through it, just as it's almost fully set. It's not a dark color but it's not light either. It's in the middle. Like me. I relate to my Honda Civic. I named it, by the way. Prince. Not after the singer, he's great and all (sorry for your loss, God) but it's named after Wonder Woman. Her secret identity is Diana Prince. Don't tell anyone I told you though. I know, I know, it says it all in the comic books, but they banned them here in Gotham. They gave away the secrets of too many heroes and villains, and there's only so much one can invent. My Honda Civic, though.. wow, just, wow. Did you know that it's got 174 horsepower at 6000 RPM? My counselor says to focus on the good things in times of trouble. My Honda Civic is a good thing.

"I had _just_ gotten enough money to push around. The rent had been paid; enough was set aside for the next couple of payments, just in case. My apartment looked like someone was living in it, and not like it had been abandoned. I had bought four place-settings of silverware and a broom that hasn't broken yet. I was able to purchase a waffle iron. All the necessities were covered. So, I decided to treat myself. One hundred and eighty-two point three inches long, and fifty-five point seven inches tall of safety-checked equipment built for cruising down a highway at a legal 60 MPH. Yes, I may have indulged. I _really_ wanted my own car, okay? My rusty red bike looking like it came out of a Pinterest blog titled 'Vintage Aesthetics' taken by a camera older than my great-grandma in the 50's wasn't much use by this point. My jobs are far enough apart that I break a sweat during trips and that never works well with my boss.

"So, I had finally purchased the vehicle of my dreams, however shallow they may seem. Like I said before, it was parked on the curb. Completely legally. It was between two signs that said 'do not park here between 6am and 6pm'. My meetings _always_ end at eight o'clock. We may be bad at communication, but we're good at leaving when the bell rings. Probably something to do with high school. I was never the best student. I came late and left early. I've been trying to be on time to my meetings, though. So, yes, I legally parked and I'm legally in love with my Honda Civic. I took my beloved car keys out of my pocket and unlocked Prince, the lights flashing and chirped hello to me. Life was worth it.

"Down the road I heard it. I heard _him_. The Joker. Yeah, everyone's aware of his 'reputation'. But in Gotham, you haven't just heard of baddies like him: you _know_ them. Everyone has a friend who's a cousin of the Joker, ex-high school sweetheart, principal, or teacher of the guy. There are more who can claim to be held hostage by him or tell stories about the apartment building next to theirs being blown up by him. Each of these stories is accompanied by a shot of liquor, an eye roll, and a little chuckle. Been there, done that. Everyone has similar stories about other people too: Batman, The Penguin, Poison Ivy, Catwoman. If you live here, you've seen 'em.

"So, I heard his laugh, right? That minancle laughter that can only mean that he's creating mischief, wrecking lives and having a good time. One of my buddies in anger management recorded it and uses it as a ringtone. Everyone hates him. I squinted down the street, trying to see what he was doing. Was he throwing...? He was throwing grenades. This street was reinforced with explosion-proof buildings. Most cars had a villain-proof setting for this purpose. He was tossing grenades out of his car, willy-nilly. Idiot. Eventually, he ran out and resorted to just spraying stuff with silly-string. He raced by in his dumb fuchsia car, flames shooting out the back. I waved to him as he passed. He cackled in response and tried to spray my car with silly-string, but I dove in front of Prince, saving it's life while wrecking my shirt. Prince means a lot to me, so it was okay.

Down the road was the Batmobile, all loud noise, sharp edges, large wheels and black, black, black. It was tacky. Batman shouted at me, but he sounded too much like he was gargling marbles so chances of understanding him were less than zero. The gist of it was clear to me though. Here I was, an ordinary citizen, standing in the middle of the road next to a brand new, gorgeous Honda Civic, covered in green silly spray and in the middle of a good(ish) versus (very) evil battle. Getting out of the way was mandatory. I jumped over my precious Prince, wincing when I heard the screech of my Converse against the glossy hood. I ducked into the nearest alleyway, just in time. The worst vehicle on this planet to ever be dreamt up crashed into the most beautiful, perfect, pristine Honda Civic to ever be tangible. In his haste, Batman rear-ended Prince, destroying the back, cracking the rear windshield into bite-sized bits and crumpling the bumper into a piece of metal as flat as paper. He then pressed a button that released an arm from above the rear right wheel of his jalopy that flipped Prince behind him, so he could drive away without being late for his fight with The Joker. Prince landed undercarriage-up, tires spinning, smoke gently lifting up from the crumpled hood. It had done five somersaults, a gymnastic feat. Even in death Prince was amazing. It no longer looked like a Honda Civic and more like a NSU Prinz that had been on the front of both World Wars consecutively. It was horrible. Imagine your worst fear. Imagine the worst thing to ever happen to you that directly affects all your emotions, ruins not only your day but the next year. Now multiply that by six-hundred. That's how I felt.

"Luckily, the building that holds my anger meetings was only a hundred feet down the block. I stormed in, ripping the door off it's hinges, completely. I ran through the dark white hallways, one of the double doors in my hand, the other clenched in a fist that drew blood from my palm. I was furious. How could Batman, fighter of bad and savior of The People do this to me? I didn't understand it. It was outrageous. No one else had their car wrecked by Batman. Not even The Riddler or Mister Freeze would do a thing like this. (You've all seen the movies, though. The amount of wreckage as a result of these battles is astronomical.) I busted open another door running into that room and tossing the door in my hand out the window. The act of violence soothed me. I picked up the other door from where it laid on the ground, upset at it's course in life, and tossed that through another piece of glass. Better. Two doors down, five-hundred and sixty-two to go. It was a big building.

"Outside, Prince blew up. Pieces of the night sky flew in all directions and tires bounced down the street. Different parts of the car crashed through windows in other buildings, nearly hitting other people. The noise alone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and put my teeth on edge. It was devastating. Prince had cost me $30,000 and I lost it all in less than five minutes. I knelt to the floor, thunderstruck by this revelation. Prince was gone. I would never be getting it back. Never ever. Due to Batman, and although somewhat distantly, The Joker, Prince had died. I cried heaving sobs into my bruised hands. It was such an emotional day for me y'know? I hadn't lost my temper for a full month, by that day, and yet here I was. But I gave myself a break. This made sense. I was angry with a purpose. It was a good one, too. Being angry with a purpose is a new concept for me. I usually just get mad at paintings being unevenly hung up in a gallery or two shades of red not matching or the coffee maker emitting a shrill noise. That reminds me, I need to get a new coffee maker. And the window in my apartment replaced.

"Eventually, I got my bearings and remembered that I had insurance! What an excitement. Surely, I would be covered, get my money back, and use it to buy a new car. Or at least a car that would be new to me. So, what do you think? How much am I insured for? Do I get my big break? Please?"

Doreen looked up at Riley, who had pulled a great deal of their hair out while telling the story. Her big eyes blinked at them slowly, popping a piece of tasteless chewing gum and readjusted her pink glasses. Riley looked at her hopefully, drumming their slightly-too-long fingernails on her desk in an urgent way. Doreen sighed and flipped through a stack of papers, all relating to Riley's 'incident'. Her voice was jaded and dull when she spoke to her client.

"It appears that you are _not_ insured for, and I'm paraphrasing here, The-Joker-and-Batman-on-a-high-speed-chase-which-involved-Batman-rear-ending-your-Aegean-Blue-Metallic-Honda-Civic-then-using-a-remote-controlled-arm-to-lift-it-out-of-his- way-and-throw-it-over-his-Batmobile-only-to-have-it-explode-minutes-later. Our insurance company doesn't cover that, I'm sorry." Doreen punctuated this with a lazy lift of her dark eyebrows and a toss of her tightly curled black hair. Riley deflated.

"Are-are you sure? That can't be right! I live in Gotham! _The_ Gotham! I've got to be covered for freak superhero accidents! Doesn't our city have free coverage for stuff like that? You've _got_ to be kidding me!" They gripped the counter tightly, creating stress fractures across the faux-marble top. Their brown eyes silently pleaded with the unforgiving Doreen.

"Look, I've done everything that I can do for you. I've directed referrals and given you options for a new car, but you're just not covered. If you had bought a different car, at perhaps a cheaper price, or a different company, that catered to Gotham, then yes, you would be ensured. But that is not the case. Look, kid, you made a mistake in purchasing your vehicles. Your story checks out. Batman admits he was driving down that street that day and there is evidence of an exploded car that matches your descriptions. You're not lying, I can tell, but the insurance company doesn't cover superhero/villain incidents." She flipped the three-inch-thick binder close with a _thwump_ and slid it across her side of the desk. Riley shifted their weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, not used to staying in one place for so long in a room as dull as this. It was white, beige, white, beige, white, beige. Even the people working there looked as if they had their color drained from them, sitting in a row of small booths against the back of the insurance claim building. The high counter Riley was in front of was made for standing and they were restless. And annoyed. Angry, yet again.

"Okay, _Doreen_. I'll be honest. I hate this place. Allstate sucks. This room is dull and boring. I was waiting too long for getting next to no help. You don't even know my name! This would never happen to me if I worked with Geico. Or Progressive. Flo would never do this to me. You guys don't even have a real mascot. Mayhem? Is mayhem your mascot? If so, I have to agree that's pretty bomb, but it doesn't cut it for having such terrible service. Prince was my _life._ I loved it! Prince was beautiful and shiny and it knew me better than I knew myself and I owned it for less than a week! You will _never_ know me that well, Doreen. I hope you left a pie or a casserole in the oven when you left home today."

With that, Riley turned on their heel, leaving dark scuff marks on the tiled floor grey with age. They stalked out of the large room, weaving through rows of people, leaning on the end of their patience while they waited in a large line that wouldn't move for days.

Near the door, was a dark mahogany table full of nicely-fanned brochures on car insurance and Allstate and What To Do If You're A Struggling Homeowner. Riley paused by it, staring at the bright, glossy, pamphlets full of smiling people. It made Riley sick. Or angry. Same thing, really. In a swift move, Riley hooked a hand beneath the table and flipped, sending pieces of paper flying everywhere, fluttering to the floor. The table banged against the wall it was sitting next to, leaving sizeable dents. It lay on it's back dejected and abused. Riley nodded at the mess, amused by their work and shoved the door open, using so much force that when it slammed against the exterior of the building the glass shattered. A small smile grew on Riley's face. The sound of breaking glass never failed to amuse them.


End file.
